


Guarding an Idiot

by InTheShadows



Series: Guarding an Idiot [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe- Guardian Angels, BAMF John, M/M, Sarcastic John, Sherlock is an idiot, but John loves him anyway
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-06
Updated: 2013-05-06
Packaged: 2017-12-10 14:46:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/787237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InTheShadows/pseuds/InTheShadows
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He watches as the idiot places himself in danger. Again. Obviously something needs to be done before he kills himself. God save him from the stubborness of humans.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Guarding an Idiot

**Author's Note:**

> This is technically my first Sherlock fic (even if it's not posted first), so pardon any ooc or obvious americanisms. John may be a bit too sarcastic. It happens.

He sighs as he watches the idiot place himself in danger. Again. Does the man have no sense of preservation? He knows the answer from long experience that, no he doesn't. If it wasn't his job to protect him, he would strangle the man himself.

It would solve so many problems. Therapeutic really. A great way to deal with the stress _he_ caused him in the first place. Who came argue with that logic? It's just a good thing he can't get gray hair because otherwise that's the color his hair would be- all of it.

The idiot continues to creep along the back wall of the warehouse. Alone. Because it would be too simple wait for backup, or even let them know he might _need_ backup. Oh no, he's not the idiot, that's everyone else.

Clearly.

Dear God, save him from the stubbornness of humans. Somehow he doesn't think his pray will be answered. It hasn't so far, but maybe one day someone will get the hint.

Yeah right.

Watching with half exasperation half fondness, he sees the man reach his target of the group of thieves he has been tracking for the last week. He manages to take the first two out before the trouble really starts.

He sighs again. Time to get to work.

 ________________________________________________________________________________ 

“John. John Watson!” The man in question turns and sees Mike Stamford sitting on a bench, waving at him. _Well at least I know everything is going right on schedule._

“Hello.” He greets.

“So how are you? Last I heard you were getting shot at. What happened?” Mike inquires as John sits, coffee in hand.

“I got shot.” John answers drily. _And wasn't that fun. Because some people don't know how to stay out of trouble for more than five seconds at a time._

“So how are you surviving London? Army pensions can be hard to live off of, last I heard.”

“Correctly, I assure you. It would be better if I had a flatmate, but who would want to share a flat with me?”

Mike chuckles. “You're the second person who said that to me today.”

“Who was the first?” _Good old Mike, reliable to the end._

____________________________________________________________________________ 

“Nice shot.”

“Yes, it would be.” _I've had enough practice._

“Left handed, steady hand- use to violence and adrenaline, intensive training- army mostly likely, crack shot, strong morals- didn't shot until they had to, didn't have time to wash the gun powder off of your hand- might want to take care of that, court is tedious.”

John roll his eyes.“Really? No wonder you're a genius.”

They look at each other before giggling. “Stop it, it's a crime scene, we can't laugh.”

“You're the one who turned it into one.”

“And how it that my fault? You were going to take that damn pill, weren't you?” _Stupid question, of course you were._

“Why would I do that?”

“Because you're an idiot.” John states flatly. _And I have more examples than you can imagine to prove my point._

His mouth twitches in a not quite smile. “Supper?”

“ _Starving.”_

______________________________________________________________________________ 

Sherlock had been staring at John for the last twenty minutes. Not that this was anything new. John had long sense grown use to the particulars of Sherlock's personality. And compared to microwaving eyeballs or seeing how long it takes skin to dissolve in different acids, this one is fairly harmless.

“You haven't gone on a date in two and a half weeks even though three different women have expressed interest.” 

“Yes.” 

“Why?”

“Because I didn't want to? And after Sarah, I don't think it's a good idea anyway. Problem?”

“You're not pinning.”

_Obviously not._

“And you're an attractive male-”

_Really now, am I?_

“have a stable job-”

_When you're not pulling me away from it to chase after you._   

“are loyal and caring, both sought after traits-”

_Glad you think so._

“and have a healthy libido.”

_Not even going to ask how he knew that one._

“Yet you turned down three women willing to have sex with you.”

_And since I keep saying that I'm not gay..._ “Yes.”

“Interesting.” Sherlock's focus shifts back to his mind palace. 

John breathes a sigh of relief. _Bloody Hell. He's going to figure it out if I don't go on another date soon. Damn._ He runs a hand through his hair. _It's not even the problem of him finding out about my feelings. I'm not ashamed of them. Something would be wrong with me if I_ didn't _love him. It's the fact that if by some God knows how small chance we do get together, he'll probably figure everything else out. And that's not something I want to happen unless it has to._

He gets up to make some more tea. _This whole thing is so domestic, it's almost sickening._ He switches on the kettle and watches Sherlock as he waits for it to heat up. _Why did I think this was a good idea again? He's going to figure it out. I'm only fooling myself thinking he won't. And I have no idea how he's going to take it. I don't think even he's that bloody open minded._

The kettle whistles. He turns it off and pours two cups. Walking back into the room, he places one in front of his flatmate, even though he probably won't notice it until it's cold. Sherlock's brow crinkles minutely as he thinks. A wave of fondness washes over John. _This is why. Because no matter how much I could do before, I can do so much more now. I can make sure he eats, sleeps... has a friend. Someone he can physically rely on, someone to chase the loneliness away. God, I don't want to lose this. I can't. I just... I can't._

_But I don't know how to keep it if everything from blows up._

_________________________________________________________________________________ 

_I guess I'm about to find out._

That is John's main thought as he is grabbed from behind after storming out of the flat. Sometimes he really wants to strangle that man. He know Sherlock can care. The 'high functioning sociopath' is just an act. That's the most infuriating part of it. Not that Sherlock doesn't care, it's that he acts as he never does.

He puts up some fight, but not too much. Hopefully he can end this thing with Moriarty- because who else would be kidnapping him right now- before Sherlock gets involved. Because he will. He knows he will. He has a habit of doing horrendously stupid things when he's bored. And he had been, before the bombing started.

But before he can think up a plan, he feels a prick in his neck. _Damnit! Bastard, why couldn't you have decided to brag instead! Damn, damn, da-_

The next thing he knows, John is tied up in a dark room. His head is pounding, the drug still lingering in his system.

“Johnny boy!” A sing song voice says.

_Ugh, what a voice._

“Time to open your eyes Johnny. I know you're awake.” 

John slowly opens his eyes and looks at the psycho that has been making his last week hell. _Fuck._ Gay Jim from IT. _Of course. God could this get any worse?... You know, on second thought,_ don't _answer that. I have the feeling I don't want to know._

“You were sleeping a long time Johnny. I was afraid you were going to miss the show. And with you playing the main role.”

_The fifth pip. Yeah, it just got worse._ “Go to Hell.” He growls.  _And if it wasn't for this damn drug I would send you there right now._

“Oh look at that, the puppy has some growl to him. Be careful pup, you don't want anyone to get hurt.” He hold up a vest- with enough explosives to take out everyone in a two mile radius, let alone one person- in one had and a parka in another. “Time to get dressed. You have an appointment to keep. Your boyfriend said midnight and it's rude to keep people waiting, don't you know.”

_Sherlock._ If that man gets out of this in one piece he is definitely strangling him. Whether he will be in the same condition is yet to be seen. 

Once he is untied, John puts on the vest and coat with one eye on Moriarty. He is handed an ear piece.

“You know the rules.” Jim smirks slightly dementedly.

John walks through the door and into the pool. _Naturally. Why are all geniuses drama queens too?_

Sherlock walks through the door and freezes when he sees John. John knows he will never forget that look. “This is a turn up, isn't it?” He asks unemotionally. If he didn't have enough motivation to kill Moriarty before, he does now. “Bet you didn't see this coming did you?”

“John...”

“What... would you like... me to make... him say... next?”

Sherlock growls, deep in his throat. “Show yourself!” He shouts.

_Well I did say I hated it when he used his sociopath mask. Good thing I plan to end this tonight, or this would be extremely telling._

“This is a nice touch isn't it? The same pool where Carl died. I did that. I stopped his heart.” A pause. “And I can stop Johnny's too.”

“Come out and face me.”

Another pause. Then- “You called?” Moriarty asks, coming out of a door behind John. “Hello Sherlock. Is that a British Army Browning L9A1 in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?” He smirks. 

Sherlock pulls out John's gun. “Both.”

He laughs. “You are so delightful. I have had _such_ fun playing with you. But game time is over now my dear. Time to back off and let Daddy get back to his work.”

“So this is just a friendly warning. Back off.”

“Just so.”

“A warning where people have died.” 

“That's what people DO!” Moriarty screams the last and gives John the opening he had been looking for.

He grabs Jim by the back of the neck. “Sherlock run!” _Go so I can end this._

Sherlock doesn't move. _Idiot. Out of all the times-_

A red leaser appears on Sherlock's head. Something snaps in John. He steps away from Moriarty. He smirks. “Good choice Johnny boy.”

John stares Moriarty in the eyes as he gives him a smirk of his own. He knows his true nature is showing through at this point. He doesn't care. No one threatens _his_ Sherlock and gets away with it. Not as long as he can help it. Malice seeps into his stare as Jim takes a step back. 

“Wh-what are you?”

“Someone you do not fuck with.” With no more than a twitch, he stops the snipers- all of them. “Friendly warning hmmm? I guess five snipers are the new friendly.” He stalks forward as Moriarty retreats. “You never planned on us walking away did you?” 

Jim reaches into his pocket and takes out a remote. He holds it up. “I wouldn't do that if I were you Johnny boy.”

John snorts. “Sherlock is right- everyone is an idiot. If I stopped the snipers, what makes you think I didn't already disable the bomb? Admit it Jim, you're out of your league here.”

Moriarty presses the button. Nothing happens.

John lets go of his humanity, his powers casing a faint glow around him. In one step in he is bare inches from the psycho's face. “Let me give you the last piece of advice you will ever hear.” His voice drops to a harsh whisper. “ _Never threaten a guardian angel's ward with him standing right in front of you.”_

Moriarty pales. “N-no. No! You don't exist.”

John grabs his throat, choking him. “Feels pretty real to me. How about you?” He lifts Jim off the ground and throws him at the wall. He hits with a satisfying thud, not getting up. Nor will he again.

Shrugging off the vest, John vanishes it somewhere else. Let one of his brothers take care of it. Like Micheal, he always liked that kind of stuff.

“John.” Sherlock's voice is unsteady. 

_Damn. I may have shown my hand just a bit more than I should have. Of course I like to see the others have that much control if their wards were threatened. They're lucky I only broke his neck. I was tempted to blow him up. It would serve him right. And Father does appreciate irony._

He takes a deep breath to clam himself. His humanity takes control again, although there is still a faint shine about him. “Alright?” 

“What...?”

_I've finally found a way to make Sherlock Holmes speechless. At least some good came out of this night._ “I'll explain back at the flat. Right now I need to leave before my temper flares up again.”

Sherlock nods, still wide eyed. Looking at his as if he holds the answers to the universe. _Not exactly, but I'm related to the Person who does._

The cab ride back is tense. Neither know how to act around the other yet. John takes the seventeen stairs up and heads to the kitchen to make tea. According to the clock, it's not even one yet.

“Christ, it feels like it should be longer.” He mutters.

Walking into the living room, he sets the tea in front of Sherlock. “Well? Are you going to tell me your theories or would you just like me to tell you?”

“You are obviously something supernatural. Magic would be the first answer, but you have wings.”

“You can see them?” John asks, surprised. 

Sherlock nods. “At the pool. They appeared when you went after Moriarty.”

_Hmmm. Interesting, wasn't expecting him to see that. Mostly people see a glow, from what others said. But were any of those people their wards? Damn, I don't remember._

“So that discounts humans with extraordinary powers. The next logical step is some kind of creature. There are two most common choices- angel or demon. Taking into account your caring nature, the obvious choice would be an angel. Unless your acting skills are vastly better than you let on, then demon.”

John winces at the last. Not that he has a problem being called a demon- not much anyway. But the tone of voice Sherlock says it in. To anyone else, it sounds analytical. But to John, who spend his whole life watching Sherlock- he's hurt. He's hurt and confused and upset and “Dear God.” He says out loud.

“Are you allowed to say that? Aren't you suppose to respect the name at all times?”

“He can damn well suck it up right now. Father knows what I'm like. Besides, he has a terrible sense of humor. Not to even mention his thing for irony. He's probably laughing his arse off right now at this.”

“So, angel.”

John nods. He tries to gauge Sherlock's mood before he continues. The slight bouncing of his leg is the only clue to the tense emotions he has to be feeling right now. “Guardian angel, if you get technical.” He looks eyes with him. _Please, please let him take this well._ “Yours.”

Silence follows. John fights the urge to fidget under the intense gaze Sherlock has fixed on him. He feels like Sherlock is trying to look into John's very soul.

“Why?” Sherlock sounds honestly confused. It puts John in mind of the child Sherlock use to be- lost, ignores, isolated and so so alone. It always hurt John's heart when he saw Sherlock like this.

But if it's one thing Sherlock does not react well to, it's pity. And right now he's likely to interpret too many other things as pity. _People are lucky I couldn't intervene back then. What people abandon a child so much he mixes up pity and compassion. Even if he always was too smart for his own good._

“Because you're an idiot.” 

Sherlock jerks back like he had been hit.

“Ok, no. Not like that. But seriously Sherlock, do you know how many times I had to intervene to stop you from getting killed? Too many times for my comfort. You were always rushing off with no one to watch your back. And there is only so much I could do back then. The time you got shot it the arm? That's how I got my shoulder wound. I was able to redirect the bullet by having it pass through my shoulder.”

He sees Sherlock open his mouth. “And yes, it _hurt._ ” He answers.

“So you decided to become human to make your job easier.” Sherlock's voice is still sharp for him to be reassured at all.

_Great, time to talk about feelings. Like he's going to appreciate this so much more._ John knows his eyes grow softer as he begins to talk. “In part, yes. It is every angel's job to protect their ward. But Sherlock, you underestimate so much by putting it like that. It is not just a job to us. When a human is born, so are we. Our sole purpose is to care and protect our human.”

He shakes his head. “I watched you as you took your first steps, as you read your first book that most seven year olds couldn't read, as you stole Mycroft's chemistry set, as a almost blew yourself up several time. I watched as you were isolated because you were too smart, as you were bullied, as you took drugs to stop your mind from driving you mad, as Victor broke your heart and Sebastian tried to use you, as you overdosed twice from the depression that you will never admit to. And all I wanted was to protect you from them. To tell you that I was there for you. That I was always by your side, that I wouldn't abandon you.”

John locks eyes with Sherlock again. “Every angel loves their wards more than anything. They are our life, literally our reason for existing. When Father suggested that I take human form to protect you better, I couldn't say yes fast enough. You mean so damn much to me Sherlock. I would do anything for you, to protect you, to let you know that you are loved.”

Sherlock is shaking when John is done. _Damn, too much John, too much. He's not use to this kind of thing and you know it. What a time for my mouth filter to disappear. As if I don't sound sappy enough. Never mind that it's all true._

“John.” His voice cracks. 

John is out of his chair in an instant and beside him, pulling him into a hug. “Shh, it's ok. It's a lot to take in. I know, I know. It's ok. Shh.” He continues in this vein until Sherlock has himself under control. “Good now?” 

Sherlock looks at him, a smile tugging at his lips- if a slightly bewildered one. “It's always something.” He says before he leans across the small space between them to brush their lips together.

John returns the kiss just as softly.


End file.
